Guy’s smile broadened. “But what Stephen has foiled Chester and Roumare from accomplishing, we may be able to achieve for the de Leons.”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Gilbert de Beauté has one child, a daughter. She will bring to her husband vast lands, as well as the earldom of Lincoln.”
Guy’s smile became sharklike. “Gilbert and I spoke extensively while I was at Salisbury. He knew your foster father and said he was very highly regarded in the shire. The foster son of Ralf Corbaille would be a popular choice for the next earl of Lincoln. The added fact that by birth you are not an insignificant Corbaille, but a de Leon, makes your attraction irresistible.”
Hugh’s complexion had gone very white. “What are you saying?”
“Gilbert de Beauté has agreed to a match between you and his daughter,” Guy said triumphantly. “Just think, Hugh! The de Leons will control all of Lincoln and Wiltshire. And those two lordships will also give us command of a string of manors and castles that form almost a solid line between the two shires. We will accomplish what Chester and Roumare could not. It is the de Leons who will sit astride the kingdom, not Chester and his half brother!”
“And that is precisely the reason why the king will never agree to such a match,” Hugh said tersely.
“He has already agreed,” Guy said jubilantly. “Now that you and I have reconciled, Stephen knows that he must offer me something else to keep me attached to him. And so he will buy our loyalty with the Lincoln heiress.”
A white line formed down the center of Hugh’s nose as he said, “The reason I came to see you, my lord, was to ask for your permission to marry Lady Cristen of Somerford.”
Guy stared at him in amazement. “You can’t be serious. Where is the gain for us in a marriage to Lady Cristen? I already control Somerford!”
Hugh said steadily, “I love her.”
“Great men do not marry for love,” Guy snapped. “I did not think I would have to tell you that. You were born to one of the highest positions in all of England. You have a chance to make your family even more powerful than it already is. Love does not enter into the marriage of an earl. You will marry where your duty lies, as the rest of us have done.”
Slowly Hugh rose to his feet. “I see,” he said.
“Don’t be a fool, Hugh,” Guy said. He, too, got to his feet. “You must consider your own self-interest in the matter of a marriage.”
“I will, my lord,” Hugh said. There was a white line around his mouth as well. “I promise you that I will make my self-interest a matter of the utmost priority.”
Guy looked at him warily.
“And my self-interest dictates that I marry the Lady Cristen,” Hugh said.
There was a tense silence.
“Have you gotten her with child?” Guy demanded.
Hugh flushed. “Nay.”
Guy took a step toward his nephew. “Then forget her, Hugh. I will never give my permission for such a marriage. It is ludicrous for you even to contemplate it! You will marry Lady Elizabeth and bring honor to your family.”
Hugh said, “If Cristen was with child, then would you agree to our marriage?”
“I will never agree to such a marriage,” Guy said firmly. “All such an unfortunate situation would mean is that I would be forced to find Lady Cristen a husband quickly.”
Hugh said calmly, “I will never marry Elizabeth de Beauté.”
Guy set his mouth in a grim line as he regarded his nephew. “I made you my heir; I can just as easily unmake you.”
“And I can go to Robert of Gloucester and declare for the empress,” Hugh returned. “I am quite certain that he will promise to back my claim to my father’s earldom.”
There was something strangely compelling about Hugh’s slim figure, his glittering gray eyes. Watching him, it was easy to believe that his father had been the greatest soldier of his time.
“Don’t be a fool, Hugh,” Guy repeated. “You can make Lady Cristen one of your wife’s ladies. You won’t have to give her up.”
Hugh looked at Guy, and involuntarily, Guy took a step back.
Then Hugh turned and strode out of the room.
2
LINCOLN
January 1140
Gilbert de Beauté was coming to visit Lincoln Castle, and the Sheriff of Lincoln exhorted his garrison to do its best to make a good impression on their new earl.
Lincoln was one of the new earldoms that Stephen had created since taking the throne. The king’s purpose was to have these additional earls shoulder some of the burden of regional defense. In Lincoln, however, the military readiness of the shire had always been the responsibility of the sheriff. It was the sheriff who collected the royal revenues, who commanded the various fortresses and made certain they were fully garrisoned, who took charge of prisoners, who enforced the law. How the new earl would interact with him was a matter of grave concern to Gervase Canville, who had been Sheriff of Lincoln since the death of Hugh’s foster father, Ralf Corbaille.
It was a cold but bright afternoon when young Alan Stanham came quietly into the spartan room on the second floor of the castle that served as the sheriff’s office. The sheriff, a worried frown on his face, sat in consultation with his officer. The boy stopped just inside the door, waiting to be acknowledged.
Finally the sheriff noticed his son’s squire. “Ah, Alan. What is it that you want?”
“Sir Richard sent me to tell you that the earl’s party has been sighted coming down Ermine Street.”
“Thank you, my boy,” the sheriff replied. He turned to his officer. “Well, Bernard, time to get the welcoming party together.”
“Aye, sir,” Bernard Radvers said. Neither man looked particularly enthusiastic. “I will see to it.”
“You may run along, lad,” the sheriff said to Alan, and the youngster gratefully backed out the door and raced across the huge expanses of the enclosed baileys that surrounded Lincoln Castle. He continued along the main town road, through the Newport Arch, arriving on Ermine Street in time to join the collection of townsfolk who had gathered to watch the arrival of their new earl.
Alan was just in time. The earl’s procession was coming up the old Roman road, and Alan and the rest of the crowd peered eagerly in the direction of its approach.
It was a lavish entry, led by three fully armed knights. The winter sun glinted off their helmets and mail hauberks and the gleaming coats of their sleek, well-fed horses. Alan gazed admiringly at them as they passed in front of him, their faces mysteriously hidden from the noisy crowd by the nosepieces of their helmets.
A little space behind the knights, riding in splendid isolation, came a tall, slender man on a large black horse. He wore a magnificent hooded scarlet cloak over his riding clothes, and when he saw the people lined up to greet him, he pushed back his hood to reveal a gleaming head of pure white hair. He raised a hand to acknowledge the townsfolk, who began to cheer lustily.
But not everyone was cheering. “The bastard,” said a low, intense voice on Alan’s right. “May he rot in hell.”
Startled, Alan turned to see who had wished the new earl so ill.
The graying yellow hair of his neighbor gave his identity away even before Alan looked into the grim face. It was Edgar Harding of Deerhurst, a landholder whose property lay just to the south of Lincoln.
The Hardings were well known in Lincoln as one of the few Saxon families in the area who had retained their lands and a portion of their preeminence after the Norman conquest.
“Why, whatever is the matter, Master Harding?” said another man, the town’s goldsmith, standing on the far side of the Saxon. “Why such enmity toward our new earl?”
Harding shot an angry look at the man who had asked him the question. “De Beauté has done injury to my family,” he replied shortly. “There will never be anything but bad blood between my house and his.”